by Chris Hechtl
“You'd think that Childress would have a shuttle accident or something,” Admiral Thurgrad said in a snide aside to Admiral Silvestri as he shrugged his jacket on in the judge's chambers.
“Please don't give him any ideas, Harry,” Admiral Silvestri said fervently. Admiral Thurgrad turned to stare at him in surprise. “It wouldn't just be Logan getting hurt or killed in that scenario. And we're speaking hypothetically. We don't know who did it or why. Officially.”
“Right,” Admiral Thurgrad drawled as the colonel's ears swiveled to them. Both flag officers glanced at their junior for a moment, then away. It was clear to a blind man that the marine was not going to be bullied by him or Admiral Childress; he was his own man and was basing his choices on the evidence and procedure, which meant he had to stay on his toes at all times. He glanced at the colonel and then his lips set in a firm hard line as a fresh thought occurred to him. Someone could very easily put a bomb or something here, in the courtroom, to take Logan out. And what sort of spatter would that entail? He didn't like that thought.
“Remind me to up security in the courtroom and areas, plus our chambers. I want everything swept at least three times a day and definitely after every recess.”
“The budget for this trial is already insane …”
“I'd rather spend the money than let someone sneak a pulser in or a bomb,” Admiral Thurgrad said.
Admiral Silvestri's mouth opened and then closed slowly. Finally, he nodded, looking grim and a little pale. “Point. Good point,” he admitted.
“Definitely,” the chief judge grumbled as he headed for the door.
@
Horatio's defense team demanded an open investigation into who was behind the attacks and why. The chief judge just shook his head. “We'll take it under advisement.”
“So, for the record, that's a no, right?” Commander Chedwiggen asked.
“Since no charges have been preferred against your client in that matter, you have no say in this situation, Commander. So, I suggest you move on.”
“Yes, sir. The defense moves for an immediate mistrial.”
“On what grounds this time?” Admiral Thurgrad growled. Admiral Silvestri opened his mouth to object and request the room be cleared, but the chief justice waved him to silence.
“There is obvious bias against my client. And his safety in the penal system is in question. Had he been treated with the respect he deserved, he would be confined to quarters, not in the prison system at all. That is a rush to judgment and does not look good to the jury.”
The admiral scowled as he caught a brief ear flick and smile from the colonel beside him out of the corner of his eye. “Denied. We've come this far,” he growled.
“Sir …”
“I said denied. Call your next witness or stand-down, Commander,” he said in a warning tone of voice.
“Very well,” the commander said, turning to the prosecutor. It was clear that the high elf captain wasn't comfortable with the turn of events. “Since my client is laid up, I move for a continuance until he can recover.”
“How severe are his wounds? I understand he …,” Rear Admiral Thurgrad cut himself off. His jaw even made a clicking sound as he realized what he'd done.
“He suffered multiple stab wounds to the back and left side. He has dozens of lacerations to his kidneys, liver, spleen, and internal organs. Plus, he has bruises and long cuts to his face,” the commander said. “I can provide images or we can pipe video in here or we can call Doctor Hsiao to the stand to attest to his injuries.”
A few in the room grimaced at the mental imagery the commander had painted and the idea of having to see it.
“I think we can discuss the time in chambers,” the admiral said hastily when a member of the jury coughed in his hand.
“Why? You just opened the door for the members to hear about it,” the colonel asked mildly.
The rear admiral scowled at him and then turned to the jury box. “The jury will disregard what they just heard. It had no bearing on the charges against the accused,” he instructed.
The colonel shook his black and red furred head as the admiral put the trial in recess again and then rose to go to his chambers.
“This just gets better and better,” he growled.
@
“So, he missed?” Admiral Childress snarled, clearly disgusted with the situation. More and more often the senior staff were begging off being in his presence due to other duties. He didn't like that, nor what it pointed to.
“Omar …,” Admiral Hill said.
“It wasn't me,” the human admiral said. When the Neochimp admiral looked at him in disbelief, he glared at her. “It damn well wasn't me this time and you can believe it or leave!” he snarled, pointing to the door.
“Okay, so, if it wasn't you, then who?” the ONI admiral asked carefully.
“Who knows? Who cares? I'd give them a medal if I could,” Omar drawled sarcastically. “The problem is, it is going to put a delay in the trial—again. And they'll milk it with the media. No doubt he's malingering,” he growled.
Admiral Hill rubbed at her brow. The nightmare just seemed to roll on and on, never-ending. But if it was bad for her, she could imagine what it was like for Admiral Logan. Scratch that, she didn't want to imagine it. “Well, we'll just have to deal with it.”
“It is already all over the media again,” Captain Prescott said. “It is in a way a good thing, it has temporarily overshadowed the fear of the mutiny and civil war,” she said.
“Will wonders never cease,” Admiral Childress growled as he flopped into his chair. “Okay, so, what headway can we make while everyone is looking the other way?”
“Not much I'm afraid, the mutiny faction won't come to terms with negotiating with us. They are flat-out demanding your head and everyone else on the senior staff,” Admiral Hill supplied.
“Like that is going to happen,” Omar replied. “What else can we do then? Can we decapitate them?” She shook her head. His lips formed a thin line. “Okay, then, we need to cut off their supplies. How are they paying their people?”
“Their people are volunteering,” she answered. “As far as we can tell, they are about to tip the balance in the manpower area. We've got the reserve and the hulls, but they've got people signing up in droves.”
“Frack,” Omar muttered. “No doubt all the pissants who resigned because they couldn't stand the heat,” he grumbled.
The captain coughed in her hand delicately as Admiral Hill smiled sourly. “Something like that.”
“Then we need to identify people before they go over and arrest them!” Omar growled.
“We're doing what we can with the limited resources and manpower we've got. We're monitoring the network and forums, but we're not getting much help from planet security. None at all actually,” Admiral Hill said.
“Then figure out why. Find out where the bottleneck is and let me know. I'll deal with them,” the admiral growled.
“Please, no,” she sighed. “We'll figure it out.”
“Fine then. What else?”
“Well …”
Chapter 47
“How are you feeling today, any better?” a familiar female voice asked. Horatio rolled over to see Doctor Hsiao standing with her tablet.
“Fine, Doc,” he said, gingerly making the rest of the move. “Sore, but getting better.”
“Any problems? Mood swings, depression?” she asked carefully as she came over and examined him.
He snorted. “You're questioning me about suicidal thoughts or actions?” he asked.
“Sorry, protocol. We should have done it sooner I admit. I just noticed no one has.”
“I'm okay. I admit I'm not happy, but that I can't change,” he shrugged.
“Do your implants help with your moods? Monitor your blood chemistry and make adjustments?” the doctor asked as she tucked her tablet under her arm. He looked at her. She shrugged under his curious gaze. “Sorry, I've been doi
ng a bit of reading,” she admitted.
“Ah,” he replied. “I can adjust my blood chemistry as needed. Some of it is automatic, like filtering my blood for toxins or substances that could affect my judgment like alcohol or drugs.”
“Well! That must suck. I mean, as a physician I don't condone drinking or substance abuse, but I am also a realist. You mean to tell me you can't even get a buzz?”
“Well, sometimes,” Horatio replied with a brief smile.
“Oh. It doesn't sound like having implants are fun.”
“It has its ups and downs. Being monitored twenty-four-seven sucks.”
“Monitored?”
“I'm in the military. I am also under arrest so my implants are monitoring me at all times,” he admitted.
“Oh.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Do you mean the capture protocols? Some that were put into place during the Xeno war are scary. I read about them a little when I was burning the midnight oil …”
“I've dealt with it before while I was on Anvil. I can deal with it now,” Horatio replied with a shrug.
She stared at him. “So, they are triggered by your captivity and can bug you to suicide?” she asked carefully.
“They did on Anvil when it got rough a few times. I didn't give in then. I have the option of refusing if the Xenos aren't involved …”
“Oh.”
“It’s okay, Doc, I'm not down or depressed. The trial isn't over yet. I'm recovering; I've got beautiful nurses to tease,” he saw a nurse turn and shoot him a smirk and then turn away. “And better food than in my cell or the mess.”
“You really must be sick if you like hospital food over what they feed you in the mess,” she replied dryly.
That got a laugh until he groaned in pain as his abused abdominal and back muscles protested. She snorted, patted his foot and then went back to her rounds.
@
“He still isn't responding?” Jules Fabia asked carefully during their next meeting. Most of the group looked harried or grim. More than one of their number had begged off on attending the meeting. Some were barely hanging onto their positions.
“You'd know it if he was,” Reba growled.
“So that is a no?” Vice Admiral Open Eyes asked. He, like some of the other retired officers, had thought they could follow in Childress's footsteps and get regen therapy. Apparently, Omar had been smart enough to cut off the supply. If he'd left the option open, one of them might have been able to get back into uniform and take over from him. Now that option was closed.
“No,” Reba snarled. “I've got one last thing to get his attention.”
“I'm afraid to ask.”
“He should be. I'm cutting him off. Either he'll come back whining or not at all. And heaven help him if it is not at all. If he doesn't get back to me within forty-eight hours, I'm washing my hands of him and pulling my support.
Jules grimaced but then nodded. “If you go, most of the civilian side will go as well including me, Reba,” he warned. “Our case will fall apart.”
“So be it. I need to look after the company and try to salvage something. We've had too many bad quarters in a row. The shareholders aren't happy. I'm not happy. Something has to break and soon.”
@
The following morning Admiral Childress received another file. This one arrived on his desk through his yeoman. He opened the archaic piece of paper and read it. He set it down when he was finished and then exhaled slowly.
Somehow, he wasn't surprised. His hand covered his mouth as he read the stark words once more. His anger was there, but for the moment it was a distant thing.
So, his bitch of a mother had written him out of the will. It was her way of showing she was cutting him off and washing her hands of him and the situation. He was furious, but there wasn't a thing he could do. Now he really did have nowhere to go he thought.
@
Lieutenant V'l'r listened to the news report. He usually tried to avoid the things as of late; there was nothing new as far as he concerned. Nothing he wanted to know at any rate, though there was plenty he probably should know, so he kept an implant feed going but with selective filters. The story, really a non-story about the lack of any sign of IlmarinenI, popped his filters because he'd set them to alert him of any stories.
He was not sure what it meant. He was concerned for the crew and wondered briefly if he'd missed something in the rebuilding of the navigational system. But no, it most likely would have popped up in the test flight to Bek B he reminded himself.
He was pretty sure he wasn't the only one wondering about the ship and just what the hell was going on with it. On the bright side, if she did get to B-102c, then her very presence had alerted the station and the ansible.
But, the speculation from the reporter had him wondering. Could they be right? Could another Xeno virus have taken the station out? It bothered him. It was speculation based on no evidence, but based on the past, it wasn't good. It also bode ill for Admiral Logan since it was very much on the minds of some people.
His feathery antenna flicked and then he preened himself, cleaning his chitten and getting a bit of grit out of the joints. He had started to feel better about his position after he had defiantly started his own little tutor sessions after class. It had started with basic tutoring but then expanded to other subjects.
He'd started to sneak in higher-level math, navigation, and a few other bits he could think of. His latest project, teaching origami had seemed like a lark to his students, an art project until he'd quietly explained the concepts behind the practice to some of his more advanced and interested students. That had gotten them intrigued enough to do their own exploring on the subject on their own time.
He had come to realize that if he couldn't teach what he wanted officially, he could find ways around the problem by dangling bait out there to the students and letting those curious enough nibble at it until they were hooked and reeled themselves in.
It was one of the few bright spots he had to look forward to.
@
After another sleepless night as guilt ate at him, Zek decided he needed to step up his campaign again. He was tired of hiding and acutely aware that he was failing in his duties. It didn't take watching the coverage of the trial or the civil war to know that. He could see it in the eyes of his students, the trouble there, the doubt, the questions. They all had it, the why am I here.
He decided after some thought to go hands-on. The following morning, he changed his class schedule and took the class to a lab to teach a hands-on class about welding titanium.
The changeup in the routine put some of the middies off balance. For Zek, he finally felt at home. It took a few minutes to get them into the hands-on approach. Each of the students had a piece of titanium in front of them and a torch.
“The optimum color of a good weld is gold, not silver. Watch your technique. That is one reason you are practicing this now, so you can recognize it by sight when you are on a ship or station. Some things you can't learn from a picture in a book,” he warned.
Heads nodded as they realized the thrust of his lesson finally. It was simple really; you needed to know how something was done, both right and wrong to recognize it. “Remember, you have to weld titanium in an oxygen-free area, which means in argon or another buffer gas, or the weld won't hold. And, above all, it has to be clean! The area has to be clean; I can't stress that enough,” he explained as his class worked on the metal parts in front of them.
He walked through the ranks, checking on them as he spoke. “You don't just weld one side either, you have to back purge the other side of the weld with argon for the weld to properly hold,” he said, checking a student's work. “Before you tack, give it one to two seconds under the gas. When you finish a line, it takes time to cool, so give it eight seconds before you shut off the gas.
“The idea here is to make sure you know what you're doing instinctively and that the people you are supervising are doing it
correctly,” he stated. “And another thing,” he paused and turned around. “Don't ever use tool heads that have touched other metals. A grinder can grind shards of aluminum or steel into a weld and compromise it. So keep the tools separate,” he warned.
“And …?” he said expectantly.
“Clean,” his class said in unison.
“Right,” he drawled. “Now, you can't weld one type of metal to another. So, you've got to use a clamp or some other method of bonding to get the job done. Glue is a favorite of some, but it doesn't work well in a vacuum and some take time to set up. Bevel the weld,” he said to a student, pausing his lecture to correct a student with a grinder. “See the sparks are blue and white? That's what we want to see,” he said as the door to the engineering lab opened. He saw the person, an aide, enter but ignored her until she cleared her throat.
“Yes?” he asked, turning to the ensign.
“Sir, the commandant wishes to see you.”
“Now?” he asked, frowning in concern. Such commands usually meant now. Why he didn't get an email ahead of time was something that bothered him.
“Now,” she confirmed.
“All right class, rack your tools, we're done for the day. Clean up and then use the remaining free time wisely,” he said as he walked out.
The aide frowned but then hastily scampered ahead of him to lead the way.
@
“Admiral, Sir?” a familiar Veraxin asked as Zek arrived with the aide in the waiting room of the admin complex.
“Wait here,” the aide ensign ordered and then disappeared into the commandant's office. After a moment, the woman came out and motioned for them to go in. “He's expecting you.”
Zek of course led the way as he entered the office. He came to attention as the Veraxin scuttled up beside him. “You wished to see me, sir? Us I should say?”
The bug behind the desk looked at them for a long moment. Finally, his antenna bobbed. “You are correct for once, Admiral. I wanted to talk to you about your latest teaching ventures, specifically your straying from the syllabus and venturing into areas you shouldn't be,” Rear Admiral C'v'll said.